


Here with Me

by inkedroses



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: ??? - Freeform, Angst, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Depression, Eliot Needs A Hug, Eliot Waugh is sad, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Post-Season/Series 04 AU, Self-Hatred, Self-Sacrifice, Underworld, hopefully?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2020-03-17 16:02:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18968575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkedroses/pseuds/inkedroses
Summary: Something in Eliot broke because he had wanted to remain strong. If he let himself cry over it, it would be real and that meant he was really dead and he wasn't going to be there for the rest of Eliot's life.





	1. Grief Stricken

Eliot and Margo trudged into the physical kids cottage, it being vacant because Dean Fogg gave the students at Brakebills a new place and Professor Lipson wanted to keep Eliot close while the others were staying at Marina’s former apartment. Margo gently closed the door behind them. Eliot set  his cane against the wall, tugging off his scarf and jacket and hanging them on the coat rack before limping to the couch, barely relying on his cane to get there. Margo stared sadly at her best friend, following him to the couch.

“El,” she said, taking a seat next to him. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Bambi,” Eliot lied, attempting to convince Margo it was the truth with a small smile. “Really.”

“El,” she placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay if you’re not. Quentin just died, I understand if you need time.”

Something in Eliot broke because he had wanted to remain strong. If he let himself cry over it, it would be real and that meant he was really dead and he wasn’t going to be there for the rest of his life.

“Fuck,” Eliot cursed, scrunching his eyes shut and leaning his head into his hands. “Bambi, I-I can’t believe he’s gone.” His body started to shake as he released his sobs. “He’s gone, Bambi, he’s fucking gone and he’s not coming back.”

Margo reached out, taking Eliot into her arms and hugging him to her chest as he sobbed harder than he ever has in his life. His heart felt like it was physically wrenching in his chest, twisting and turning and being squeezed to the point where he thought it would burst. It was an unbearable sadness. He couldn’t do this without Quentin, the little Freshman, who he had never known would mean this much to him, had been there through his worst moments and he didn’t know how he would make it through without him.

“You’re going to be fine,” Margo reassured herself more than Eliot, tipping her head up to stop the tears from falling at the sight of her best friend unraveling into pieces.

“But I won’t, Bambi,” Eliot choked, sniffling. “Without him…” his voice cracked, “I can’t.”

So, the best friends sat there, holding onto each other because while it was Eliot being put through so much heartbreak, Margo was just recovering from all she had been through in the past months. Margo’s first tear fell, traveling along a black curl on Eliot’s head. They were broken.

 

Eliot woke up in his room, draped across his comforter, faintly remembering how he got to his room. There was a bottle of wine in his hand, one that had been emptied into his stomach. He couldn’t believe that he wasn’t experiencing the worst hangover in his life because of how much he drank last night (considering the wine was the only bottle left in the house after.) Guess being possessed by a monster really strengthens your alcohol tolerance. However, despite it not being the worse one of his life, Eliot was still hungover, pounding headache, nauseousness, and disorientation. Which is what Eliot blamed for not realizing that it was not his room, but Quentin’s, and not the fact that he had been spending every night for the last week sleeping there. And it’s what Eliot blamed for not getting in the shower and for not changing out of the same sweatpants and sweater he had been wearing for a week.

Voices were whispering downstairs, likely about him or Quentin, maybe both. Either way, he couldn’t really bring himself to care much. Only the rumbling of his stomach brought him to push himself up off of the bed. Eliot grabbed his cane, which he must have set next to him last night, and trudged down the staircase, wincing at the pain that still occur even though he was taking his pain medicine.

“He’s not getting any better,” he heard Margo say, “especially with all this alcohol around. I can’t imagine what was between them for him to be so broken up about this.”

“We just need to give him time,” Julia said, “They shared a bond, anyone can see that.”

“So did the two of you, but you’re back on your feet already despite all you’ve been through,” Margo argued. “It’s been three weeks since his death, one since the memorial, and the funeral is soon. If you’re ready to face all that, then Eliot should be too-”

“What funeral?” Eliot asked, entering into the conversation they were having in the kitchen.

The three turned to him, Margo, Julia, and Penny all looking relatively guilty for talking about him when they believed he was sleeping. Eliot limped past them, humming back at the “good morning”s that he received on his way to the toaster. He took down a bag of sourdough bread, taking out one piece and placing it in the toaster.

“How did you sleep?” Margo asked him, getting him a glass of water.

“Alright, I guess,” Eliot responded, sniffling slightly. “Now, what funeral?”

Julia cleared her throat, “Um, Quentin’s.”

Eliot stiffened, hand dropping the toast onto the plate, heartbeat picking up. For a moment, a ringing started in his ears and he zoned out, hand still hovering in the position of how he was holding the toast with the tips of his fingers. He breathed harshly through his nose, closing his eyes as tears came to him. It was pathetic, he thought. I’m not even over his death and Julia was friends with him for years. A small voice in the back of his head told him he had every right because of the fifty years that Eliot had lived with Quentin, but he couldn’t help but to feel like he had no right to mourn his love and friend.

And suddenly, Eliot came crashing back.

“Oh,” he said, buttering his toast. “I, uh, I thought we already had one.”

“It’s for his family,” Julia explained. “So they can have some closure.”

“They don’t deserve it,” Eliot blurted out.

“El-”

Eliot turned around, eyes still swollen from nights of crying but full of anger. “They don’t. They were so terrible to him. They forced years of self hatred on him.”

Julia sighed. “They still deserve closure. He was their son and brother.”

Eliot turned back, grabbing his plate with an angry huff. “I’m going to come.”

“Eliot,” Margo began to protest. “Are you sure that you’re ready for that-”

“No,” Julia interrupted. “It’s okay, he can come with me.”

Eliot gave her a nod in thanks and sat on the counter, taking a bite into the barely toasted toast. It was silence for a minute as he was chewing, Margo, Julia, and Penny exchanging worried looks that went over Eliot’s head.

Remembering Margo’s concerns about her best friend, Julia turned back to Eliot, saying, “It’s in two days, be sober by then.”

Somberly, Eliot nodded, sliding off the counter and limping over to the sink, dropping his plate in. He reached into his jacket and pulled out his bottomless flask, tipping his head back and drowning more alcohol. When he came back up for air, Margo quickly snatched the flask away from him, which erected a grunt of protest from the later.

“Why don’t you go take a shower?” Margo suggested, holding her hand out for the cap to the flask, which Eliot reluctantly handed over. “Its been a few days.”

“More like a few years,” Penny grumbled. “You reek of alcohol and sweat.”

Slightly discouraged by Penny’s words because, despite being in the biggest stage of grief in his life, Eliot still (sort of) valued his hygiene.

“I suppose,” he agreed, grabbing his cane and hobbling towards the stairs.

 

Eliot ran his hands smoothly over his arms with the loofa, bubbles trailing behind it. As much as he wanted to, Eliot couldn’t help but imagine it was Quentin’s hands trailing over his arms, just as he had done so once before in Fillory. Despite how painful the familiarity was, the phantom touch was comforting. Eliot was almost thankful for it.

It had been happening for days now, small flashes of Quentin and what had been and what could have been. Quentin laying next to him in bed, covers pulled up to his hip bones with a small line peeking out of the satin. Quentin’s phantom hand on his cheek, hot breath inches from his own face. Quentin’s sloppy, open mouthed kisses that were somehow arousing on his chest. Eliot always felt his hand gripped in Quentin’s, no matter where he went. It was as though he had a phantom injury, he could feel it when he did the activity that injured him in the first place.

Such as the hangover he had a few days prior to that morning, where he could feel Quentin’s hand rubbing his back as he spilled his empty stomach into the toilet as he had done in Fillory when Eliot had caught a flu going around in the nearest town.  It had scared the absolute hell out of them because it was the first time either of them were sick there, and because people had been dying because of it. It was a miracle that Eliot had even survived and that was probably only in part because of their magic. It took weeks to recover.

Eliot snapped himself out of his day dreams of what once was and what would never be. The water was turning cold, erecting goosebumps to break out on his skin. Good thing he already shampooed and conditioned his hair otherwise the shower would have been practically pointless.

Eliot shut the water off, stepping out into the freezing air of the bathroom, the droning of the bathroom fan and the droplets of water dripping off of Eliot being the only sounds in the room. After drying off, the man proceeded to do something he had not done in what might have been months. He moisturized. Everywhere was lathered with expensive, scented lotion. He dabbed some long the sides of his neck, where Quentin had loved to nuzzle when they would cuddle, over his cheeks where numerous pecks had been placed for years by Quentin. Everything was Quentin. 

 

 


	2. The Funeral

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot and Julia go to Quentin's funeral. Eliot remembers their life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually cried when writing this.

The day of Quentin’s (second) funeral, Eliot had no idea what to wear. Luckily, he had Margo to help him. Because of how much horse shit the monster had been eating, Eliot hadn’t been able to wear many of his clothes. However, because of how little Eliot had been eating, he fit into a few. Margo decided on a pair of black jeans, the black coat that Eliot had worn to Quentin’s memorial, and the button down shirt he had worn when he first went to past Fillory on the quest with Quentin. Eliot would have told her to put it back, but he couldn’t bring himself to. Somehow, it was kind of poetic. Wearing the shirt that he had started an entire life with Quentin in to the funeral where he would start the rest of his life without him. Somehow.

Eliot wondered, briefly, while driving on the way to the funeral with Julia, how his own family would act if he had died when Margo stabbed him with her axes. Would they even hold a funeral for him? Would they regret all they did to him and all they said? Would they throw his body to the fields to use as fertilizer? The thought of that wretched place being his final resting place made Eliot feel sicker than he already felt. But then a slightly reassuring thought popped into his head. Margo would never let his parents take his body, she’d fight tooth and nail against them. It made him smile, just a little, a small quirk of his lips.

They pulled up to the graveyard, silently. Julia, clad in a black dress and heels, softly smiled in reassurance at Eliot. He was thankful for it. Quentin’s family surrounded a casket in the center of a graveyard and several empty plots of land, ones reserves for what should have been for Quentin’s wife and one for his mother, and several for his siblings. There was already one headstone by the plots. However, Eliot had no idea whose it was. But, as they approached the casket, Eliot was able to make out the words.

**THEODORE “TED” COLDWATER**

The gravestone read. Eliot felt a pang in his chest reading the name because it was also his-their son’s name. Their son from another life who is probably not even alive. God, everything just seemed to remind him of Quentin. The songs on the radio, his closet, and, hell, even _looking_ at a book made him think of Quentin.

Eliot hadn’t noticed he stopped walking as soon as he saw the name on the grave before Julia gently placed her hand on the back of his arm, nodding as a way of asking if he was okay. Eliot only managed to give her a small quirk of his lips in response. He couldn’t nod. He wasn’t okay, but if he shook his head then Julia might just give him that look of pity. That sympathy look that he hated so much. It was the same as when some people found out he grew up on a farm in Indiana with a homophobic family. That goddamn pity look that he got in the hospital, from Todd, from Penny, from Kady, and even from Margo, who knew how much he _loathed_ that look.

Quentin’s mother approached them halfway, holding a handkerchief to blot at her eyes with.  It was stained grey from mascara. She gave Julia a watery smile, but Eliot received a questioning look.

“Julia,” she started, hugging the woman standing next to Eliot. “I’m so glad you can make it.”

Julia nodded, pulling back. “Of course, he was my best friend.”

Quentin’s mother pursed her lips as she began to tear up more before sniffling and composing herself, turning to Eliot.

“Who’s this?” She asked, trying to be polite despite not knowing who the stranger was that showed up at her son’s funeral.

“This is Eliot,” Julia spoke for him. “He’s Quentin’s friend, they were really close.”

The word “friend” almost made Eliot grimace because he knew he was _so much more_ than that to Quentin. He was a lover and he was a love. But Eliot, pushing back his tears and anger, gave Quentin’s mother a small smile.

“Hi,” he said, voice slightly croaking. “I hope you don’t mind me coming, he helped me through so much.”

Quentin’s mother nodded to him in greeting, saying, “Of course I don’t,” before spinning on her heeling and leading them to where they would be burying Quentin.

The casket was open, that was the first thing that Eliot noticed. His body was in there-the artificial one they made out of magic to feel real and look real for a cover story Brakebills made up, a shooting at the college and how Quentin sacrificed himself to save his peers. It was close enough to the real story of how Quentin sacrificed himself to save the world, Eliot guessed.

His hair was brushed out of his face, and he was paler than normal. He was in a black suit. Eliot thought it should have been grey because wearing a grey suit, no matter how ugly it was, would be more Quentin. His hair looked so _real_ , Eliot wanted to touch it, brush it behind his ears like Quentin had done so many times. He leaned on his cane, digging a pitch black, silk handkerchief out of his coat pocket, wiping away the tears on his cheek he didn’t know were falling.

Quentin’s mother stepped up in front of the casket after the people had cleared back, wiping her own eyes before speaking.

“Thank you all for coming,” she started. “We are here today in memory of Quentin Coldwater, my son, who gave his life to save his classmates. He was a hero,” she pursed her lips, tearing rolling out of her eyes. “And he deserved so much more of a life than he got. His loss is one I don’t think I can take anymore because it's so close to Ted…” she became hysterical and someone had to pull her away from in front of everybody.

One of Quentin’s sibling stepped up, placing a flower on his brother’s body, reminiscing about their childhood and how he took his brother for granted. Eventually, he turned to the group of people who had come. “Would anyone like to say anything?”

Eliot hesitantly raised his hand. At Quentin’s brother nod, he limped up, putting a majority of his weight on his cane.

“I’m Eliot,” he began, pushing back tears as best as he could. “I met Quentin at college, I was the one who gave him the tour. I had no idea how much he would mean to me, how close we would become,” he inhaled shakily, “He told me about how much he loved the series _Fillory and Further_ , and how it saved him. He said that, deep down, he wanted to be the hero of a story, and he finally got that chance. And I know what he would say if he could, ‘have I done something brave to save my friends, or have I finally found a way to kill myself?’”

Eliot turned around, looking at fake Quentin in the coffin. “Q, you did something brave because you are so amazingly kind and would save anyone because that’s the person that you are, Q. You’re a hero.”

Eliot now had tears streaming down his cheeks, turning back to face the other people there, who were all nodding at what he said. Julia walked up next to praise her friend’s name with her own tears, but Eliot couldn’t pay attention anymore. Standing in the back, crying, heart wrenching in his chest as the service continued until they finally closed the casket and lowered him into the ground.

 

The drive back to Brakebills was silent except for the radio. Eliot was too sober for the funeral, but he felt good because he hadn’t drank in two whole days, he felt good _physically_ despite his injury. Eliot leaned his head on the window of the car, listing to another song come to an end. _Wonderland_ by Taylor Swift came on. Out of his peripheral vision, Eliot saw Julia reach to change it. Eliot’s own hand shot out of its own accord, blocking the controls. Luckily, Julia got the message and went back to driving.

Eliot saw his memories rather than the street. Him meeting Quentin on the first day, how carefree he was then. Quentin smiling at him after coming back from almost being expelled. He remembered the hurt he felt when Quentin came back from Brakebills South with Alice. Eliot saw their first year together in Fillory, how Quentin rushed and kissed him when he was buzzed on wine and what that night lead to. He remembered how Quentin married him after Arielle’s death. How they raised Ted. They pretended it could last forever, and, in a way, it did.

When he came out of his song-induced visions, Eliot realized his cheeks were cold, damp with more tears. Eliot didn’t know how he could go on without his Q.  He was lost in the dark without Quentin. He felt hopeless, and that feeling of being alone and not having any future was taking over him. And Eliot was afraid of what would happen when it finally did.


	3. Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot makes a decision; for better or for worse. Alice is briefly mentioned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Read for warnings please. Thank you for the kudos and comments! It is such a great feeling to see how people actually enjoy my story. It has been a long time since I updated, and I apologize, but I just wasn't feeling it.  
> This chapter has mentions of suicide at the beginning (most of it, really.) Implied Fillory husbands. (Subtext rapidly becoming text.)  
> I'm sorry this is a little shorter than normal but we're finally getting to the interesting part.

Feelings. They are the driving force of humanity. Decisions are generally made by how you  _ feel _ , feelings make you capable of love… or, in Eliot’s case, heartbreak. Now love was lost and it was not coming back. 

Three days after the funeral, Eliot was on a roof. The generator buzzed behind him, and light from the classroom below shined through the roof panel. Eliot sat, legs over the edge, a stolen bottle of  _ Fireball  _  in his hands. The moon reflected on him, almost blinding in his drunken state. Three days after the funeral and weeks after Quentin’s death, but Eliot was not close to over it. 

“Eliot?” He faintly heard Margo ask behind her, a slight falter in her steps as she saw where he was. “El, what are you doing?” 

“Sitting,” he deadpanned, taking another sip out of the bottle. 

“On the edge of a roof?” 

“Mhmm,” Eliot hummed, still gazing down at the courtyard before  him. 

Margo’s footsteps grew louder as she grew closer, her hands held slightly in front of her as though he was a wild animal. Her brows were furrowed, concern evident on her features. Eliot wanted to scoff. She believed he would jump off the roof. No, he was too stubborn of fighting to survive for that at the moment. However, there was the week after that, and the one after that. All these weeks without Quentin could change that. 

“Quentin and Alice were up here,” Eliot began, “when they had to go to Brakebills South. Figures, you know, they were close. He had to admit his biggest secret,” Eliot’s voice cracked, “

He told me that his was he couldn’t run away hard enough,” he gave a humorless laugh, “God, he hated himself. And I ignored the pain I saw because I figured he was straight and didn’t want to go through that pain.” 

Eliot turned his head to his best friend, tears rolling in fat droplets over his thin cheekbones, “I could have helped him. I was like him my Freshman year, I was running from a life I hated and a version of myself that I still hate. But, I didn’t,” he glanced at the bottle before allowing his arm to go limp, the whiskey falling to the ground. Margo flinced. “I didn’t because I was  _ fucking scared _ . Scared of falling in  _ goddamn love _ . And it did not work. God knows it didn’t work…” he whispered. 

Margo was frightened. Her best friend was spiraling in a way he hadn’t since he killed Mike and now it was even worse. Eliot had told her about his life in Fillory with Quentin when he got his memories back after she had stopped them. She knew about their love story there, how they raised a son, how Quentin was married then widowed, and married again. Eliot loved him with all of his being and now it was like his very heart had been ripped out of his chest. 

Eliot turned, scared of what he might end up doing in his state of drunkenness. Yes, it was not his intention to… jump, but with the thoughts filling his head… God, he was scared to fall in love but how scared had Quentin been when he knew that using his magic could cost him his life. He was probably so fucking scared to die because he had finally gotten past that rough stage of his life; Eliot had seen the progress himself. It was not Quentin killing himself, that Eliot was sure of. That was Quentin being so selfless, his defining trait essentially, that he wouldn’t let anyone else die for him. 

 

The journey back to the Physical Cottage was a treacherous one. Eliot had broken down on the roof, his injury ached from being in the crouched over position for so long. He was limping through the doorway, leaning heavily on his cane, when Julia walked down half the stairs. She smiled gently at him, not quite reaching her eyes and obviously filled with pain, but Eliot also saw an undertone of guilt hidden slyly behind it. 

“Eliot, could you come up here with me?” She asked, motioning for him to do as such while she climbed back up the stairs. 

Eliot followed complacently, winching with each step up to the dorm rooms. They were headed towards Quentin’s room, Eliot knew that route by heart. 

There were boxes, still empty though it was clear they would not remain that way for long. 

“You’re packing his things?” Eliot asked, stomach dropping. 

Julia nodded, lips pursed, sitting down on the bed. “Yeah. His mom wants it and I offered to help. Take whatever you want of his, then I’ll begin packing.” 

Eliot closed his eyes in pain, but agreed. The first thing he did was walk to the book shelf, where copies of  _ Fillory and Further _ were gathering dust. ELiot gently brushed his fingers along the rough spines, taking each down from the shelf with a certain delicacy reserved only for Quentin. He sat them on the bed. Various trinkets were littered amongst the shelves, small things that Eliot decided he needed too. There was nothing more he wanted on the book shelves, however, as his gaze turned to Quentin’s nightstand, he found something he very much desired. 

It was a silver ring that read,  _ My Peach _ on the inside, one that Quentin had once worn on his left ring finger. Eliot’s hand drifted up to his neck, where his own,  _ My Plum _ , ring was hanging on a string. 

Eliot gulped, trembling hand reaching out and holding it in his own. He traced the rim, and rushed out of the room, books left behind and forgotten; replaced by something that mattered much more than a few pages of paper. 

  
  


Julia tried to pretend she didn’t hear the sobs coming from Eliot’s door as she dropped the things he had chosen to keep off in a small box. 

Margo tried to pretend that she wasn’t heartbroken when she saw Eliot crying over Quentin and was reminded of what she had lost in Fillory. 

Alice tried to pretend she didn’t want to down the nearest bottle of pills when she walked into Walgreens. 

Eliot wanted to pretend he was okay. 

 

Nimble fingers picked up the small box outside of his door, bringing it inside and closing the door. He ran his hands over a piece of chalk he had picked up from the shelf, not so much a trinket as it was accidentally placed there, and remembered. 

“Know that when I'm braver it's because I learned it from you,” he whispered the secret promise, rolling the dusty white stick in his hand.

And Eliot knew what he had to do as soon as he saw the  _ Fillory and Further _ books out of the corner of his eye. 

That night he placed the bottle of alcohol outside of his room, still full and corked. 

That night he not only made a promise to Quentin, but to himself. And the last thing on his mind before he fell into a peaceful sleep for the first time in a month was that he wouldn’t let Quentin go without a fight. He was done being on his back, belly exposed to the universe to poke and prod at. 

He was going to fight back. 


	4. Stretching a Muscle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kady is currently unavailable, please leave a message at the tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm glad this is making some readers sad. It's the affect I was going for. This ones short but I didn't feel the need to put anything else in. As always, thank you for the kudos and comments, they really mean a lot even if I don't always respond. I'm socially awkward and don't know what to say sometimes. 
> 
> Anyways, enjoy!

Margo Hanson missed Josh, that much she would admit, but would not admit what. One could assume, however, that she missed his cooking. It was delicious and whenever she needed to calm down, he would add a little something. Maybe it was because he supported her. Or perhaps it was that whenever they cuddled, he was like a pillow she could snuggle into and hide away from the world she had to rule. Don’t get the idea that Margo likes to cuddle, but if the other person wants it, who is she to refuse?  
And she wanted to go back to Fillory, back to Josh even though she was still in exile. He would surely help her take back the throne, which she missed. The stresses no longer seemed to be anything of substance in her mind. Margo realized that she had missed ruling Fillory. She missed having all of that power. She was a fucking king for Gods sake, not a damn princess and sometimes people would forget that but she always had a way to put them in their place or get what she wanted that wasn’t manipulating them with sex.

  
Margo needed Eliot to help her take back her throne, she knew, but he was in no shape to help her.

 

Which is why she was surprised to see Eliot striding down the stairs, clean shaven and freshly showered. His hair was still on the longer side, but he had obviously clipped it. His limp was worse, that’s how she knew he was sober. The medication he was prescribed was amplified by alcohol, and now only when he had walked a great distance was his limp bad (though better than it was now.) He smiled faintly at Margo, reaching the bottom step with a wince.

“What are you doing up this early?” She asked, treading lightly even if he seemed okay.

“I remembered something,” he vaguely answered, walking into the kitchen to make himself a quick breakfast. “Something that got me up.”

Margo cocked an eyebrow. “Is that why you're all… dressed?”

Eliot knew she was referring to the fact that he was wearing a shirt that wasn’t cotton and from Walmart. He hadn’t had a sip of alcohol since the previous night, and his headaches had become increasingly hard to ignore, his limp had become as bad as it had been the night of Quentin’s memorial, and every time he saw alcohol, his mouth would water like he was a starving man. He knew these symptoms, of course, and they were especially worse considering he had just quit out of nowhere, but Quentin was enough of a reason for it to stay that way.

  
Eliot took his to-go cup and poured coffee into it, the bitter substance swirling with the minuscule amount of coconut creamer that he had poured into the bottom. (He was puzzled as to why they still had it considering he had essentially been on an all alcohol diet.)

“I am going out today,” he cleared his throat, “Stop by Julia’s maybe.”

Margo nodded, brow frowned. “You good to go alone?” She asked.

Eliot nodded with a slight smile. “I’ll be fine, Bambi.”

Margo nodded, watching as Eliot made his way to the door, grabbing his usual coat and walking out into the light of day, a thing he had not seen for a long time.

 

The black coat Eliot always had with him became a sort of security blanket. He couldn’t leave the house without it or get the sudden overwhelming feeling of anxiety that was increased because he was more likely to be noticed and judged with his cane.

The walk to Julia’s was long, so he taxied the rest of the way once his wound began to throb ever so slightly. It was her old apartment she still managed to live in. Eliot could never imagine going through all that she did and remain in the place it all happened. She truly recovered and it made her so much stronger.

Eliot knocked on the door, leaning heavily on his cane. The elevator was out of order. Penny came to the door, a look of shock on his face to see Eliot out of the cottage.

“Hey, man, come on in,” he moved to the side, allowing Eliot a clear passage to limp through. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to Julia about something,” he said.

“Penny!” Her voice rang through the apartment. “Who was it?”

“Eliot!” Penny returned.

Julia came out of the hallway with slightly wet hair, but she was dressed with a small amount of makeup on.  
“Eliot,” she greeted. “What brings you here?”

“I-”

“He needs your help,” Penny quickly explained before retreating to the bathroom, murmuring something about how Julia always takes forever.

Eliot rolled his eyes at Penny’s interruption, but told the woman in front of him, “I don’t know how close you and Alice have gotten, but I need to know where to find her.”

Julia frowned, taking a seat at the island next to him. “I haven’t heard anything from her since the memorial. I do know that her and Kady had started a hedge witch rebellion, so you might want to check with her.”

Eliot nodded, standing once more and making his way to the door. “Could you text me the address of where she’s staying?”

“Sure,” Julia agreed, holding the door open. “Why are you looking for Alice, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“I just have a question for her.”

 

After knocking what must have been twenty times on the door to Kady’s place, and calling the number Julia had so kindly given him, Eliot decided to use magic to break into it. But then there were wards, which he slowly tried to disable. Unfortunately, magic was like a muscle and he hadn’t used that muscle in what was probably more than a year. Not proper magic, anyways. It hurt after a certain point, his metaphysical muscles cried out in pain with every ward after the first five. He was weak and he was tired and he was fed up with the goddamn universe, and it was only noon.

He needed some coffee.


	5. A Quarter of a Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eliot calls a cab; Alice is still recovering; Margo is confused.

The coffee shop was close to deserted due to the time of day, but at least it was still open. Eliot ordered his black coffee from the barista and sat down as he waited for it to finish brewing. Apparently, they were slacking off today. The bell from the door rang, but Eliot kept his back turned to it. Footsteps echoed as someone walked past him. He saw black boots out of the corner of his eye. The door to the back opened and closed. A few seconds later, the boots stopped on the tile floor again. Eliot kept twiddling his thumbs. 

“Eliot?” Kady asked from above him. 

His head snapped up, a small grin on his face, crinkling the dark circles around his eyes. 

“Kady,” he greeted. “Just the person I’m looking for.” 

The woman frowned. “What are you doing here? Last time I heard--”

“--I was drinking myself half to death and vaguely suicidal?” 

“...not doing great, but that works.” 

“I need your help on where to find Alice. Luckily, you work at a coffee shop?” 

Kady laughed. “I’m here on hedge related reasons,” her face turned somber. “And I’m not so sure you want to  
see Alice.” 

“Why not?” 

“She’s… not doing well either.” 

Eliot stood up, stool squeaking against the floor. “Kady, I don’t care. It’s extremely important that I see her, talk to her. Do you know where she is?” 

Kady hesitated, eyes sympathetic. She let up, “There’s a mental health facility that she’s checked into. Midtown Mental Health Clinic, it’s called.” 

Eliot took her hand and squeezed it in gratitude. “Thank you, Kady.” 

He fled, forgetting his coffee, leaving the woman at the shop concerned and confused. 

 

Eliot managed to catch a nap on the thirty-one minute ride to Midtown in the crusty cab he had hailed just outside the coffee shop. He was now one step closer to completing his mission of getting the love of his life back.  
Alice was recovering from Quentin’s death, is what Eliot figured. They’d both loved him so much and his death had a large effect. But Alice didn’t have that strength that Eliot had gotten in his mind’s prison. She had been shunned (and rightfully so) by Quentin yet somehow managed to still love him. 

Eliot supposed that is similar to what he had done to Quentin. He had rejected him. Turned him away. And Quentin, through it all, still loved Eliot. So, at the very least, Eliot could sympathise with her in that way even if he had been the one doing the shunning. 

Eliot was surprised at how easily the workers had let him visit Alice. He just had to sign in with his information and was given a visitors pass. (During this process, the nurse at the front desk told Eliot that he was glad Alice was finally getting a visitor and that she seemed extremely lonely.) He traveled through the halls of the building, looking for the recreation center where he was told that Alice would be residing. 

Eliot saw her as he entered the room. Alice looked paler than usual, which was saying something considering she was already quite pale to begin with, and her blond hair was longer and messier. It was strange to see that she didn’t have a dress on and was instead wearing grey sweatpants, a white tank top, and a pink and while flannel robe. She was reading a book. 

“Alice,” Eliot breathed as he walked closer.

At the sound of a familiar voice, her head shot up. 

“Eliot,” she frowned her brow, sounding surprised to see him. “What’re you doing here?” 

“It’s… complicated,” he hesitated, settling into a bleak gray chair next to her. “How have you been holding up?” 

Alice laughed, the sound void of humor, and gestured to the space around her. “I think this all speaks for itself.” 

“At least you’re using a healthy alternative compared to how I seemed to turn to alcoholism.” 

“Have you been to see Julia?” Alice frowned. “She was his best friend.” 

“She seems to be getting along better than I have.” 

“She’s been through a lot.” 

“So have we.” 

“It’s different, though. She’s been through a lot of grief.” 

“I suppose she has,” Eliot sighed. “Which is why I came to you with this matter rather than her…” 

“What is it?” Alice asked, dread already settling in her stomach. 

“I want to bring back Quentin,” he told her slowly. 

“No,” she immediately protested. “No, I am not doing that. I am moving on, I’m in a fucking mental health clinic for God’s sake. He’s dead, Eliot.” 

“You were dead too,” Eliot tried to reason. 

“That was a completely different situation!” She hissed at him. 

“How?” 

“Well, for starters, I was still here, part of me at least, just not physically.” 

“Then we get his soul and remake his body! It’s been done before.” 

Alice stayed silent, pondering. She was improving here, she was moving on from magic and from Quentin. But, Quentin would have done the same for her—he fucking did do the same for her when she was a niffin. And maybe it wasn’t that crazy, perhaps that they could save Quentin. 

“We’ll need a plan,” she said after a few beats of silence. “And first I need to convince my therapist that I am not a danger to myself.” 

“I can wait,” Eliot told her. 

“I don’t see her until tomorrow,” Alice rolled her eyes. “But I’ll call before I leave and I’ll meet you at Julia’s. She helped me get my shade back when Q saved me when I was still a niffin. We’ll need her help, too.” 

 

“Bambi!” Eliot exclaimed as he burst through the door to the cottage. “I have good news.” 

Margo, startled, stood up from the chair she was reading at (a book of battle strategies, she pretty much had nothing better to do with no kingdom to run and no classes to attend; she was also brushing up on battle magic.) 

“El?” She asked, confused. “What’s got you so happy?” 

He was grinning as he told her, “We’re going to bring Quentin back.” 

“We?” 

“Me, you, Alice, and Julia. We’re going to bring him back.” 

Margo frowned her brow, eyes sympathetic. “El, I’m afraid I don’t follow.” 

Eliot led her to the couch. “Alice and I haven’t worked out the details yet, or gotten Julia to agree to help us, but we’re going to bring back Q. If we can get his soul, Alice can make a body for him, a real one, and he’ll be back.” 

Margo opened her mouth, and closed it again before deciding to inquire, “And you’re sure that this is going to work?” 

“Positive,” Eliot sighed. 

“Then I’m in,” Margo stated. “And after," she prodded at his chest with a sharp nail, "you can help me get my kingdom back.” 

Eliot pulled his best friend into an embrace. “Of course, Bambi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah... its been a long time. I am sorry, I kind of fell out of The Magicians fandom for a while and this was kind of just... dead. But, I'm back and hopefully there will be another chapter up within like a day haha. I am finally getting into the actual plot. We in the rising action and I'm excited. You'll have to stick with me on this, I don't completely remember everything that's happened, but if I do need some crucial information, I go back and watch those scenes; I just don't have time to binge it right now. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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